Reichenbach Academy of Excellence
by bookwormtsb
Summary: John Watson arrives at Reichenbach Academy of Excellence shortly after the death of his parents in a tragic car accident. After a year of trying to push people away John finally accepts a group of friends and begins the arduous journey of repairing himself with the help from his roommate, Sherlock Holmes, well in between solving mysteries and trying to keep up with homework.
1. Chapter 1

John Watson shouldered his slightly worn rucksack and slammed the taxi door shut behind him. On the other side of the car Harriet Watson stumbled over her Doc Marten boots and tumbled onto the tarmac. John dropped his holdall and rushed to help his sister. Harriet, or as she preferred to be called, Harry, was sprawled on the ground with a faint ghost of a grin on her face. As he pulled her to her feet John inspected his sister carefully, Harry was pixie like and pale with short dark hair that stuck up wildly at the back and a slightly uneven fringe. With a height of 5"2 and her exceedingly slim frame Harriet Watson could have easily passed as the younger of the two siblings. John stared at his sister with a hint of sadness; the past year had been hard on both of them and they'd both developed self destructive defence mechanisms, he couldn't quite decide whose had been worse, "Harry," John kept his hands around his sister's slim wrists, "please stay safe," Harriet nodded solemnly and pressed her forehead against her brother's.

"John, you're my baby brother, I should be looking after you," she sighed. It was hard to imagine John Watson needing looked after; he looked to be on the cusp of a growth spurt that meant he could easily surpass the height of six feet, his sandy hair flopped to the side in a sort of shaggy fringe, he had the build of a rugby player and eyes that were hardened with wisdom. John laughed but it didn't quite reach his eyes, "I'll be fine, I promise," the two siblings looked up simultaneously at the looming building before them, Reichenbach Academy of Excellence.

John helped to drag Harry's small suitcase up the hill while she carried their bedding in a black bin liner. Harry stopped and rested the liner on the ground. She dug around in the pocket of her duffel coat for a moment before pulling out a crushed piece of paper with a map of the school on the back, "John, it says we have to sign in at reception where someone will show us to our rooms," John shifted his hold on the bags and turned towards the grand oak door set into the stone arch at the front of the large medieval building. They stepped inside the tiled porch and Harry pushed the door open so that the foyer of the school panned into view. If outward appearances were any judge of the interior, Reichenbach academy should have been furnished with coffins, wall brackets complete with flaming torches and stained glass windows. Instead it was quite modern with hard wood floors and dark leather couches in a square formation around a low coffee table and cream shag pile rug. Leaflets about extra curricular activities were spread across the coffee table alongside a fruit bowl, on the other side of the room there was a large desk with the school badge on the front and a tired looking receptionist lazily typing on an iMac. She was an unnatural redhead with flaming red nails and bags under her eyes that suggested a night out in the nearby town, "Um hi?" John asked carefully, the receptionist looked up slowly and rolled her eyes, "I'm John Watson and I'm the year 11 transfer student," he continued.

"Oh yeah, sign the bottom of this form, someone will collect you and take you to your room shortly. Breakfast is between 7 to 8 am and classes start next week," she explained while inspecting her cuticles. John quickly sprawled out John H. Watson and picked up the information pack she'd put out for him. It was a thick booklet with a slightly waxy cover; he took a seat on one of the couches and flicked through the first couple of introductory pages about the history of the school and previous OFSTED inspections, which were all exemplary, apparently. After a couple of pages there was a small section about school rules. John squinted at the small print. It explained how the boarding students had to apply for a night visa if they wished to stay away from school overnight at somewhere other than their home, it also stated that after prep and dinner students were free to wander the grounds and use the facilities such as the pool or gym. Then there were the more serious rules; no students were prohibited to be in another's room after 10pm and strictly no _liaisons of an intimate nature _within the school grounds_. _

There was a light cough and John looked up, he hadn't even realised that Harriet had already been shown to her room. A tall athletic looking boy leaned against the door frame, his polished house captain badge gleamed on the lapel of his navy blazer but his shirt was un-tucked and the top button of his white shirt was undone with his green and navy tie loosened slightly. He had short brown hair that was slightly longer on top and stood up in unorganised tufts. "Hey, I'm Greg Lestrade, head of Winchester house, nice to meet you," John nodded and shook Greg's outstretched hand before picking up his holdall and pulling his backpack onto his shoulders.

They came out of the building through the front door and walked across one of the large playing fields towards an old brick building with several turrets. "So are you new to the area?" Greg asked as they walked side by side through the slight drizzle that had started to fall. John shook his head, which caused several droplets of water to fly off. "No I'm from Hampshire originally, but my sister and I have been living with our aunt in Edinburgh for the past year," Greg looked slightly surprised, "our parents died in a car crash last year." John explained weakly.

"My brother died in a crash a couple of years back, he'd just got his license and was coming home from a gig one night, he got hit by drunk divers. My parents sent me here, so I wouldn't have to deal with all that stuff..." Greg trailed off and stared at his shoes. John didn't bother replying, the 'sorry for your loss' speech would be wasted on them both.

Without even realising it, they'd arrived outside Winchester accommodation. Greg glanced at John, who seemed lost in thought, before stepping inside. There was a short but wide entrance hall with male and female toilets at the far end, a door that led into a library to the right and a door that led to the computer suite on the left. There were two staircases leading away from each other on opposite sides of the hall, Greg led John up the one on the left which curved slightly until it finally brought them to the door way of the boys common room. It was cosy with a roaring fire and plush sofas and armchairs. The walls were lined with books and school photographs. Two large bay windows looked out over the fields at the back of the school, at the other end of the room there was another staircase. Greg motioned for John to follow him and they gradually climbed up various staircases until they made it to the very top floor of the building where the ceilings were slightly sloped and there was more room between the oak doors that were numbered with a small silver plaque. "Here you go!" Greg announced as they stopped at the very last door, 221B, "your roommate is Sherlock Holmes, he's a bit odd, I must worn you, but give the kid a chance, okay?" John nodded, feeling slightly nauseous. "I'm right down the hall, come get me if you need anything." with that Greg left John standing outside his new room feeling inexplicably nervous about meeting Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Chapter 2

John gently pushed on the door of his new room and was surprised to see it swing open to reveal a completely empty and somewhat normal bedroom. Two slightly larger than average single beds were pushed against the opposite walls with short bedside cabinets next to the beds, a floor length mirror in between and a large chest of drawers at the end of each bed. John looked around the room for some sort of indication for which bed to take. He decided that it didn't _really _matter and dropped his hold all onto the end of the right hand side bed. The duvet covers were lime green and navy striped, so as to match the Winchester school ties and the walls were whitewashed and bare. John unzipped his bag and pulled out a plain navy t-shirt and grey jogging bottoms that he'd packed at the top. John stripped off carefully and placed the green polo shirt and chinos he'd been wearing at the end of the bed, he stood for a moment in his blue chequered boxers and surveyed himself in the mirror. He still hadn't quite accustomed to seeing the mass of red and white scar tissue that covered his shoulder and stood out starkly against his light tan. His chest and stomach were well muscled from rugby training and if he stood at a slight angle so that his left shoulder was facing away from the mirror he could have passed as a normal teenager, if it wasn't for the neat ladder of red scars that ran along the inside of his forearm.

"Bloody Anderson!" John jumped and automatically wrapped his arms around his body. A tall boy with a mess of dark curls that stuck up wildly in every direction surveyed John with a flicker of amusement over his slim features. "You must be John Watson," the boy greeted.

"Yeah, you must be Sherlock Holmes, how do you know about me?" Sherlock nodded and shied away from John slightly before sitting down on the end of the unoccupied bed.

"They told me I'd have a roommate called John Watson, besides I already know everything I need to know about you," John cocked his eyebrow in a sort of challenge, "you transferred here due to a car accident roughly a year ago which killed your parents. Since then you've lived somewhere with a close relative, most probably an aunt but you've been feeling neglected and alone probably because you had trouble making friends, which means you were relocated far from home. Since then you've resorted to self-harm which has been brought on by the mild depression you've experienced for the last year. You're still worried about your sibling however, they've also developed a destructive habit since the passing of your parents and it's weighing heavily on you-" Sherlock slowly counted out each deduction on his fingers. John gaped; astounded at the astute skills of this boy he'd just met.

"That was," he paused, _what was it? "_amazing," John murmured, still in a state of shock.

"You think so?" Sherlock pulled his knees up to his chest and stared at John.

"Of course, it was extraordinary, it was quite extraordinary…" Sherlock's brow knitted together in confusion.

"That's not what people normally say."

"Well what do they normally say?"

"Piss off." John felt the corners of his mouth tugging into his first genuine smile in months. Soon he was laughing while Sherlock sniggered softly.

There was a knock at the door and Greg's quiet voice came from the other side, "Sherlock? John? Are you guys in there?" John got to his feet and pulled open the door to reveal Greg Lestrade wearing a white t-shirt and skinny jeans. "Well you guys seem to be getting along well…" Greg smirked. John looked around confused before he realised how their predicament could be perceived, Sherlock sprawled across the bed with his long legs propped on the end of the frame and John in just his boxers with his cheeks flushed from laughter.

"This isn't how it looks, trust me Greg I was getting changed and-" Greg cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Hey what you guys get up to in your own time is up to you but I was just wondering if you wanted to come out into town, a bunch of us are going for a drink and you're welcome to come." John looked confused.

"But Greg I'm only sixteen and Sherlock's-" he looked around to the lanky frame draped over the bed.

"I'm fifteen," Sherlock called out without raising his head.

"None of us are going to get served,"

"Then you guys can have a coke or something but it'd be good for you to meet some guys that you might be sharing some classes with and also Sherlock can observe basic human contact." Greg winked while Sherlock murmured something that sounded awfully like- _'eff off'_.

John pulled his navy t-shirt over his head and rummaged around in his bag for a pair of jeans. By the time he was dressed Sherlock was already standing by the door in a tightly fitted plum t-shirt, jeans and a long grey coat.

"Ready?" John asked as he pulled a pair of black hi tops on. Sherlock nodded and held the door open for John. A group of seven boys were standing outside Lestrade's room, they aged from about 15 to either 17 or 18 with the oldest already sipping from cans of Strongbow. Sherlock stood awkwardly against the wall while John mingled with a few of the year 11 guys who seemed nice enough. Greg appeared in the middle of the crowd with a bottle of apple sidekick in one hand and a cooler in the other.

"New plan!" he announced to the group, "we're heading out to the woods for a drinking session!" There were choruses of 'woo' from the crowd of boys.

Sherlock looked a bit put out and turned his coat collar up before marching ahead of the group and down the stairs.

Somehow John managed to catch up with his long legged roommate on the ground floor and stopped him just before the door, "Hey Sherlock, I know absolutely nothing about you but you know everything about me and we're roommates so don't you think we should know all that stuff?"

"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Roommates should know the worst about each other." Sherlock made it quite clear with his clipped tone that that was all John would be discovering about his somewhat mysterious roommate that night.

In the woods the ground was thick with fallen branches, sepia leaves and decaying pine needles. Traces of the dying sunlight trickled through the heavy ceiling of pine and oak trees. The light dappled on the forest floor and matched with the quiet trickle of water from some invisible creek or stream gave a very odd aura to the place. John noticed with a jolt that Sherlock had disappeared from the weaving path and was sitting on an overturned log several metres off the path. John stepped off the path and into the relative darkness of where Sherlock was sitting.

"Would you like a cigarette?" Sherlock asked casually as he conjured a pack of Marlboro Lights from his coat with a flick of his wrist.

"I don't smoke," John answered stiffly as Sherlock dug a box of matches out from the back pocket of his jeans. There was a flash of white and the smell of phosphorus reached John's nostrils. A moment later Sherlock blew a ring of grey smoke out of his mouth and turned to face John, the lit match illuminating his features.

"Just because you don't make a habit of something, doesn't mean you cannot partake in it, here," Sherlock extended the gently smouldering cigarette and John gently took it between his index and middle finger.

Smoke seemed to fill his mouth and throat and even his stomach. John tried to breathe out just like Sherlock had but instead found himself choking, "that was disgusting," his breath seemed to rattle around his lungs and roll across his tongue.

"You get used to it," Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. There was a faint ringing sound, which John simply put down to the fact that his head was spinning wildly. Sherlock pulled out an expensive looking smart phone and pressed it to his ear.

"Yes Lestrade?" John coughed as quietly as possible as Sherlock's face lit up considerably. A moment later Sherlock's phone was back in his pocket and his cigarette had been stubbed out on the log alongside hundreds of names carved in with penknives and other cigarette burns, "John, a body's been found in the woods, not far from here either. Will you come?"


	3. Chapter 3

They traipsed through the undergrowth in silence. There was the quiet swishing of Sherlock's long coat and John's tobacco fuelled coughing but apart from that there was complete silence. "How do you know there's a body?" John asked as he jogged to keep up with Sherlock's long gait.

"Lestrade's uncle is Detective Inspector, I help the force out occasionally," John raised his eyebrow in confusion,

"But the police don't consult amateurs," Sherlock shot John an exasperated look,

"Remember when I first met you, and I knew everything about you?" John nodded, Sherlock's deductions had been, well, amazing, "Well do you think an amateur could do that," John shook his head and they continued to walk in silence.

"The police force still don't consult fifteen year old boys," Sherlock shot John an icy glare.

"I'm sixteen in a couple of months anyway. Don't pretend to act all high and mighty just because you have a September birthday John,"

The shrubbery finally started to thin until they were standing in a brightly lit clearing. A police car was parked with its lights on just inside the tape that cordoned off the area around the _body. _John recoiled slightly as he took in the woman lying in the chalk outline several metres away.

Muddled images flashed through his brain. _The radio blaring out Harry's CD preference, Unknown Pleasures, his dad reaching over to turn it down, the other car swinging coming at them on the wrong side of the road. The impact, the air as it was smashed out of his chest, a white hot pain scorching his shoulder and his head colliding with the head rest of the front passenger seat. _

Hands found the small of his back in the darkness and gently guided him so that he was leaning against the trunk of an ancient oak. John opened his eyes, he had not noticed until that moment that they were tightly screwed shut. Sherlock's slim features were shadowed from the bright lights behind him, "John, are you okay?" John nodded and slumped against the tree slightly. He attempted to blink away the black dots that clouded his vision as Sherlock disappeared over to the body.

"Hey," Greg Lestrade was standing next to John with his hands buried deep in his pockets and his head bowed, "crime scene queasy?" Greg asked with a rogue smile that didn't reach his eyes. John nodded and tried to swallow the lump that was rising in his throat. Lestrade noticed and gently tugged on John's forearm, "c'mon, let's get you back to your room."

Greg had disappeared back into his own room after checking that John was okay. It wasn't until the sounds of other pupils in the corridor finally died down that hot tears slid down his cheeks as he buried his face into his hands, he swore loudly. Random curse words flew out of his mouth as he began to pound his fists against his forehead; his screams were coming out so quickly that he wasn't breathing. His head was filled with images of the car crash, the identification of his mother in the morgue, coming home to find Harry slumped in the bathroom in a puddle of her own vomit and pills-

"JOHN!" He stopped suddenly and opened his eyes. Sherlock was crouching on the floor with pale hands wrapped firmly around John's and his grey eyes boring into him, his voice became gentler, "stop, it's okay, I'm here," Sherlock's hair was sopping wet and stood up as through he'd run his hand through it earlier. John had been too busy screaming to notice the rain that sloshed against the windows. Sherlock slowly pushed John down slightly so that he was lying on his back before disappearing out of view. John tilted his head slightly and watched through bleary eyes as Sherlock peeled off his soaked t-shirt and stripped down to a pair of expensive looking boxers.

Sherlock's milky skin was almost translucent as it stretched across his sharply defined ribs and across his concave stomach. In the half-light of the room he looked almost ethereal with his tangle of black hair and his white skin. John couldn't help but feel his eyes roam across his roommate's body. He tore his eyes away and rolled over onto his side so that he faced away from Sherlock in attempt to hide the fact that he had blushed a furious red. There was the sound of Sherlock shuffling into bed and then the light clicking off.

"I'm sorry," John didn't really know why he said it but his words hung in the darkness as Sherlock rolled over to face him.

"Why are you sorry?" Sherlock's voice was so quiet that if John hadn't been listening he might have missed it.

"Because you got the screwed up weird kid for a roommate!" In comparison John's voice almost a shout.

"Are you trying to be an idiot John?" Sherlock asked his voice was louder and more powerful now, "I've had at least three roommates a year because people don't want to have to share a room with Sherlock Holmes, the freaky genius kid-"

"Someone must like you, surely?" John interrupted and there was a lull in the conversation.

"No, my parents are too busy acting posh and my brother likes keeping tabs on me, but he doesn't actually like me, he's my arch enemy," John couldn't quite suppress a quiet snigger, "what?"

"People don't have arch enemies," Sherlock shifted again.

"I'm sorry?"

"In real life, there are no arch enemies in real life, doesn't happen,"

"Doesn't it?" He sounded genuinely confused; "sounds a bit dull, what do real people have then in their_ real_ lives?"

"Friends, you know, people they know, people they like, people they don't like," he paused, "girlfriends, boyfriends,"

"As I was saying, dull," John took a slight breath,

"You don't have a girlfriend then?"

"Girlfriend? No not _really _my area," it suddenly hit him what _not my area _really meant: Sherlock Holmes was gay.

"Oh right," there was another long pause which was filled with just the sound of their breathing, "do you have a boyfriend then? Which is fine by the way,"

"I know it's fine," Sherlock answered slightly too quickly.

"So you've got a boyfriend-"

"No," his reply came before John had even finished his sentence.

"Right, okay, so you're just unattached, like me, fine, good," John could feel Sherlock's eyes on him in the dark.

"John, as much as I'm flattered by your interest I don't really consider myself the sort to date-" John's cheeks were suddenly burning red again.

"No, NO, _no, _I was just saying, it's all fine," Sherlock made indistinct coughing noise and rolled over so that he was facing the wall and John fell asleep almost immediately, and for the first time in a year he was not awoken by nightmares.


	4. Chapter 4

"GET UP!" John Watson startled into consciousness and blinked rapidly until a group of masked figures came into view, "get out of bed, now!' he stumbled out his bed fairly rapidly as someone roughly shoved Sherlock out of the adjacent bed and onto the floor.

"What's going on?" John asked while trying (and failing) to stop his voice from cracking.

"The welcome party for-" Sherlock's explanation was stifled by someone taping a thick wad of duct tape across his mouth. John felt rough hands hoist him into the air. Someone pushed a slightly soggy sock into his mouth and pulled a school tie over his eyes. The hands carried down staircases and out into the night. Somewhere behind him Sherlock was kicking and attempting to scream through a mouthful of duct tape. John guessed that he should have maybe felt a bit worried about what was going on but he was too tired to really care. He'd read enough books about boarding schools to know about the ritual of dragging the new boys out of bed and publically humiliating them. He decided that he'd wait until they put him down and try to make a run for it. Sherlock it seemed had no such plan as he continued to wriggle in the arms of his captors.

After about ten minutes of walking John was dropped onto the ground and the full body weight of one of the kidnappers landed on his midriff. He wriggled fruitlessly but the kidnapper outweighed him considerably. John could hear the signature sounds of matches being lit and duct tape being cut. Cold fingers tugged his t-shirt over his head and a sudden wave of heat splashed against his chest. A faint smell of burning hair reached his nostrils as it suddenly dawned on him what was happening. They were burning his chest hair! John wriggled manically and grunted as the match dropped onto his stomach for a moment before sizzling and going out. He blinked fervently in an attempt to get the makeshift blind fold off his face. There was a splash somewhere to his right and Sherlock's frenzied screaming. The same hands picked John up again and taped his arms to his sides with a length of duct tape before swinging him back slightly and throwing him into the lake.

Water raced up his nose and stung against the burns on his stomach. John froze in shock, it was just _so _cold, he kicked his legs wildly after a moment until he surfaced. The cold seemed to envelop every last fibre of his being. John could hear Sherlock thrashing wildly several metres away and used his forearms and hands to reach out for him. Sherlock's wrist collided with John's fingers as the freezing cold water splashed around their shoulders and across their cheeks. John pulled Sherlock closer to him as best as he could with the limited mobility his duct taped arms provided. Suddenly, Sherlock's shaking fingers came into contact with John's cheeks. His cold fingers gently pushed the makeshift blindfold off John's eyes so that the tie was stretched uncomfortably across his forehead. John waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, Sherlock came into view in the half-light, his skin was paler than before and his hair was slicked back from the lake water. The moonlight reflected manically in his grey eyes. John spat out the sock that was blocking his speech and mumbled an awkward thanks to his dripping wet roommate. They dragged each other back to the sandy shore of the lake through pure determination. Their masked kidnappers had strapped Sherlock's legs and John's arms. Exhausted, they collapsed side by side on the sandy bank. Both had been stripped down to their boxer shorts and their respective t-shirts were nowhere to be seen. After several minutes Sherlock ripped the tape off his legs and stood up, he pulled John to his feet and pulled off the tape from around his arms. "Come along John," feeling very cold and confused John followed his roommate.

"Sherlock, our dorm's t-t-that way!" John chattered miserably as Sherlock headed in the complete opposite direction.

"John, don't be an imbecile, they've taken the time to break into our dorm, abduct us, tape us up and throw us in the lake. Do you really think that they've not locked the room?" John looked down at his bare feet so as that Sherlock wouldn't see him blush. He hated being talked to like a three year old, " Trust me John, this is not the first time it's happened to me. They always lock you out." John nodded numbly and followed as Sherlock headed across the field.

They finally ended up outside a building that was almost identical to their own dorm building except the brass plaque beside the door, which read Chichester House. John shot Sherlock a confused side-ways glance, which Sherlock ignored. After a moment Sherlock dropped to his knees and collected a handful of tiny pebbles. Sherlock disappeared into the darkness. John stumbled after him until they stopped suddenly. Sherlock tossed the first of his pebbles at a darkened third storey window. On the fifth pebble a light switched on inside and the window slid up. A disgruntled looking brunette stuck her head out of the window and shot a venomous glare at John. She opened her mouth as though to shout abuse before noticing Sherlock and turning a bright shade of pink. "Molly, John and I need to sleep in your room," he called out. Her cheeks flushed a furious red.

"You need to sleep in my room?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed impatiently before taking a quick running jump so that he was clinging to the heavy lead drainpipe. In less than thirty seconds Sherlock Holmes had scaled the side of the building and slipped through the open window lithely. John rolled his eyes and headed for the main door. 

When John arrived in the doorway of Molly's room it was already open. It was much smaller than John and Sherlock's own bedroom and painted a pale green. The furniture was all jammed together and the room only contained one proper bed. There was however an extremely deep sofa bed pressed up against one of the walls and a wardrobe at the other end. Sherlock was draped across the frame of the sofa bed while Molly was standing on her own bed and rummaging through the top compartment of the wardrobe.

"Found it!" she exclaimed and pulled out a large and heavy looking duvet. She unceremoniously deposited the large duvet on top of Sherlock before looking back at John, "you look absolutely freezing, would you like to use my shower to warm up?" John nodded. He'd forgotten about how very, very cold he was. Molly looked back again and tutted slightly as she took in his bare chested form. She rummaged in the wardrobe for a second before emerging with two overly large t-shirts. Molly tossed one to John.

The water seemed to set his skin on fire as John adjusted the temperature settings so that his shower was a little more warm and a little less Mordor. He ran a tiny dollop of Molly's pink shampoo through his roughly cut hair and tried to warm himself up a little before cutting the water off. He blindly grabbed a fluffy white towel and dried his body and hair in record speed. He pulled on Molly's t-shirt that had the words 'Bucks Rugby Team' printed in navy across the chest. He picked up his boxers, which were still slightly damp from the lake and pulled them on.

Back in the room Sherlock had changed into another one of Molly's t-shirts and was buried under the large duvet. Molly was already snoring quietly underneath her own duvet. Sherlock raised his head slightly as John walked in. "It appears we will be sharing tonight John,"

As John Watson drifted off to sleep for the second time that night, something occurred to him- Sherlock Holmes was a cuddler.


	5. Chapter 5

John realised almost immediately that he wasn't in his own room. The light was coming from the wrong place, the duvet and walls were different colours but mostly it was the pair of pale arms wrapped around his chest. He could feel warm breath on his back and soft hair tickling the back of his neck. John felt a terrible feeling of unease just below his navel. Here he was, in someone else's room having just _slept _with them, all of which was strongly forbidden by the school's code of conduct. It was only his first day for God's sake! His sleeping partner shuffled slightly and rolled over so that their head was resting on John's stomach. John was in bed with Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes as in Sherlock Holmes the boy. John was in bed with a boy! The sound of a shower being turned on in the adjacent bathroom startled him from his thoughts and brought the events of last night flooding back. The kidnapping, the lake, the matches, the pebbles, the girl and then climbing into the cramped sofa bed next to Sherlock Holmes. He breathed a sigh of relief at the thought of his virginity being intact.

"Sherlock, wake up," he murmured and gently pushed his roommate's shoulder. Sherlock mumbled something incomprehensible and pulled the duvet up over his head, "Sherlock!" he said, more loudly this time. The duvet shifted to reveal the sleepy face of Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock opened one eye and stared at John.

"What is it?" His tone was bleary and husky but his words came out as sharp as ever.

"Wake up,"

"Why?"

"Because we need to get back to our dorm and I need to pee really badly-" Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically and sat up so that his back was pressed up against the green wall of Molly's bedroom. John shuffled along so that he could climb out of the bed and made his way to the bathroom. The shower had been turned off and he could hear the sound of a hairdryer inside. He knocked out a little rhythm on the door. Molly's half dried head stuck out of the door.

"Yeah?" Now that John was able to look at this mysterious girl who'd lent him a t-shirt and a bed for tonight he realised she was kind of pretty, in a bookish way mind. Her long mousy brown hair reached down to her waist and her blue eyes were large and eager. She had a pretty smile that had a hint of nervousness masked behind perfectly straight, pearly white teeth, "what?" she looked kind of frustrated.

"I need to use the bathroom," Molly rolled her eyes and stepped out of the bathroom. After relieving his bladder John splashed his face with water and ran a hand through his hair that had become a curly mess not unlike Sherlock's. He guessed that it was his fault for going to bed with sopping wet hair. He decided that he needed a haircut, desperately. Some people suited the whole curly hair look (Sherlock) and some looked like sandy coloured poodles (John). He grabbed Molly's deodorant and gave himself a quick blast before coming out of the bathroom. Molly was sitting on the end of her bed cross-legged and trying to not stare at Sherlock. Sherlock had his eyes closed and his spectacularly long fingers pressed up against his chin. John coughed gently and Sherlock's eyes snapped open, he shot John a look that he couldn't really interpret, "we really should be going John, thank you for you hospitality Molly," and he strode out of the room in black silk boxers and a girl's tennis camp t-shirt. John shot Molly an apologetic look but she was too busy staring at Sherlock's retreating backside, _girls. _ He followed quickly. The corridor was completely empty as he ran to keep up with Sherlock Holmes. The taller boy was already racing down the staircase. John finally managed to catch up as they burst out into the bitterly cold air of a September morning. They didn't speak as they trudged miserably across the football pitch. After a while John could feel Sherlock's eyes boring into him. He turned his head slightly; Sherlock was staring at John's hair with a mixture of amusement and something that John couldn't quite place.

"I like your hair like that," Sherlock mumbled and John's head shot up so quickly he was surprised he hadn't got whiplash.

"You, you like my hair like this?" John gestured vaguely towards his head and Sherlock nodded awkwardly, "okay, thanks, I guess,"

Without really noticing they'd arrived outside Winchester House. Sherlock slowly opened the door and held it open for John. The entire building was deadly quiet as they climbed the stairs. They managed to make it to their floor without incident when suddenly Greg Lestrade came barging out of his bedroom and crashed into a very surprised looking Sherlock. There was an awkward pause as Greg pushed himself to his feet and pulled Sherlock up. He noticed John and took in their disheveled appearance. Greg was wearing a pair of navy jogging bottoms low on his hips and a tight white t-shirt. John could just about make out the corner of a box of Marlboro Lights in his pocket and smirked, they obviously weren't going to get in too much trouble.

"Three questions," Lestrade started, "one, why are you both in your boxers, two, why is Sherlock wearing a girl's t-shirt and three what on Earth has happened to your hair John?" Greg directed his questions at John while Sherlock's face had become all creased and confused when Greg asked about John's hair.

"I like John's hair like that," Sherlock muttered furiously. Greg smirked knowingly,

"Of course you would, it looks like the blonde version of yours and I bet you love John's bed head," John felt himself blush at what Greg was insinuating, Sherlock seemed oblivious as he continued.

"Well he did wake me up looking like that so yes that is obviously his 'bed head'." Greg shot John an exasperated and amused look before walking away from them both with a small wave.

John watched as Sherlock pushed open Lestrade's still open door and walked inside. Curious he watched as Sherlock opened the window and deftly climbed out. John rolled his eyes and waited for Sherlock to open up the door like a normal person. When Sherlock did finally open up the door he rushed straight into the shower before John had a chance. John took a seat on the end of his bed and tried to collect his thoughts, which were currently all over the place. He thought back to this time last week when he'd been in Edinburgh with his Aunt and sister. His life had been miserably, depressing, monotonous. Now he was wearing a strange girl's t-shirt and sharing a dorm with the craziest, cleverest person he'd ever met after sneaking across campus from a night of crime scenes and kidnapping. He could already tell that life at Reichenbach Academy was going to be absolutely mental.


	6. Chapter 6

When John's alarm clock roared to life at 6:30 on a Monday morning John Watson wanted to punch the batteries out of the infernal thing. He would have succeeded if he hadn't been beaten to the task by none other than Sherlock Holmes; one of Sherlock's long arms appeared from underneath his duvet and smashed down onto the small blue alarm clock. After the buzzing clock had received a fair beating from Sherlock's flailing limbs the two boys climbed out of their respective beds groggily.

"Shotgun first shower," John yawned and traipsed towards the bathroom. Sherlock darted out in front of him and tried to get into the bathroom. John –with a new lease of life- pushed him out of the way. There was a small scramble as the two teens attempted to get into the shower first. With a strength built from years of rugby training John managed to push past Sherlock and stood in the shower, victorious. He expected Sherlock to just leave so that John could get changed out of his pyjamas and shower; they were running late for breakfast after the whole alarm clock debacle anyway. Instead Sherlock Holmes stripped off his t-shirt and climbed into the shower. He turned on the water so that it completely soaked John who was still dressed in his pyjamas.

"You dick!" John screamed as he tried to get the shower door open. Sherlock continued laughing manically as John slipped and stumbled across the bathroom floor. As John grabbed a towel something wet hit him in the back. John spun around to see what it was, a pair of dripping wet dark grey Calvin Klein boxer shorts were lying scrunched by his feet. He looked up towards the shower where a completely naked Sherlock Holmes was shampooing his mess of black curls. With a furious growl (a _furious _growl, no other sort of growl) he turned on his heel and stormed out of the bathroom. He could still hear Sherlock's quiet laughter from the bathroom as he attempted to dry himself off. One of Sherlock's many virtues (sarcasm) was that he was very quick in the shower and so after about two minutes he emerged in a cloud of steam with his fluffy white towel wrapped around his narrow hips and his black hair flopped across one eye. John flipped him off and snaked behind him into the bathroom while Sherlock sniggered at his back. The water came on quickly as John undressed and climbed in the shower. He had checked his timetable the night before and had a fairly easy sounding day: Double PE, Biology, Maths and PHSE.

He realised that he'd forgotten to put his own shampoo in the bathroom last night and so decided to use Sherlock's. It was expensive looking and in an oddly shaped black bottle. John squirted a tiny bit onto his hand and rubbed it through his hair. It lathered up surprisingly well as he let the water engulf him. After what seemed like an hour under the blast of hot water he climbed out and draped a towel around his shoulders. Making sure that everything was covered he entered the bedroom and headed straight for his wardrobe. Sherlock was knotting his tie in front of the mirror as John began to get dressed as quickly as he could; he'd never really been a morning person. John shrugged on his blazer and tugged a comb through his damp hair. At this Sherlock looked up from where he was tying his shoes, "did you use my shampoo?" John stared at his socked feet and nodded glumly.

"Sorry," he mumbled as Sherlock looked confused.

"Why are you apologising? I was just asking, besides, you smell like me- it's weird," John breathed a sigh of relief; he really, _really _didn't want to get on the wrong side of Sherlock Holmes. John flattened his hair subconsciously and tugged on his new school shoes.

"Do you know what time it is?" John asked and shot a pointed look at the mangled mess of blue plastic that had formerly been his clock. Sherlock rolled his eyes and fished his phone out of his pocket.

"It's 7:15, we should really get down to breakfast," Sherlock stood up and wrenched the door open. John followed Sherlock down the corridor; he had absolutely no idea where breakfast would be held. They marched up the hill amidst other Winchester students until they reached the main building where they filtered through the large double doors. John felt fairly lost as the other students bumped into him. They burst out into a huge hall filled with long rows of scrubbed oak tables. The tables nearest the front were already filled with students chattering to each other. He spotted Molly almost immediately. She was wearing a green and gold tie and had her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She was engaged in a quiet conversation with Greg Lestrade. John vaguely wondered if they were dating but forgot about it as Sherlock dragged him across to the food bar. John filled up on a full English while Sherlock picked up a single slice of toast. They moved to join Molly and Greg at their table. They chatted about very little while they ate until another boy joined them, "hi Mike!" Greg grinned as the newcomer sat down. He had short dark hair and huge grin. He was fairly well built and was wearing the Chichester house tie. He leaned over and shook John's hand.

"I'm Mike Stamford, nice to meet you," he introduced.

"John Watson," John replied and returned to his sausages. By the time they were nearly finished another girl came across to the table. She had long flowing black hair and cheekbones nearly as high as Sherlock. She was very striking and kind of beautiful. She sat down smirking and reached across to take a bite of Sherlock's toast.

"It's nice to meet you John," she smiled and he recoiled slightly. There was something in her smile that he didn't quite trust. She didn't introduce herself so after a pause Lestrade gestured towards the mysterious girl and said:

"John, this is Irene Adler resident Salisbury house member. I'm surprised you haven't heard of her-" Irene cut him off with a faux slap to the arm.

"Oh Greg!" she shrilled and a slight blush crept across his cheeks. Was there something between the two of them? He shot Sherlock a quizzical look but Sherlock was talking quietly to Molly who was listening raptly. John leaned in so that he could hear their conversation better.

"So you'll let me in?" he asked carefully,

"Yes, just make sure you don't get us caught okay Sherlock?" he rolled his eyes,

"I won't, don't worry, now have you got it all set up?" she nodded, "I'm going to need some sort of protection if you could get a hold of that too?"

"No Sherlock can't you get it yourself?"

"Molly think of the consequences," she bit her lip in deliberation before nodding. He smiled broadly at her; "I'll see you at eight?" she nodded. John sat back in his seat, from what he'd heard of the conversation it made it sound like having a girlfriend definitely _was _his area. As he scooped the last of his baked beans into his mouth he decided that he too could play detective, he was going to find out what they were up to.


	7. Chapter 7

After breakfast Sherlock seemed to disappear into thin air so John changed into his PE kit and headed down to the field with Lestrade and a boy called Charlie. Charlie had a mass of wavy brown hair that stuck up manically tucked under a bottle green beanie and silver nose ring. He was telling hilarious anecdotes about the members of staff. John took to him immediately, he reminded John of his old best friend, Q (short for Quentin), from before the car crash. Q had been the life of the party, a real joker and unbelievably easy going. When they arrived at the centre of the pitch a serious looking man of about fifty with a humongous moustache was lecturing on the importance of tidiness. He took in Charlie's beanie and unruly hair and gasped a little.

"Charlie McKenna, will you please make an effort to look vaguely tidy or else I will be forced to cut off your hair, again," John looked over at Lestrade but he was trying too hard to contain his laughter. Charlie didn't move. The PE teacher growled, grabbed Charlie by the elbow and dragged him towards the main school.

"Thank me later guys!" Charlie screamed as he was dragged away. There was an appreciative chuckle as the group saluted his retreating back.

"He seems nice," John laughed and Greg nodded,

"He is, one of the funniest blokes you'll ever meet. He's crazy though, he's got ADHD, a ridiculously high IQ and a penchant for attracting trouble."

"Does he get in a lot of trouble?"

"Helluva lot, it's never serious though, picking up litter or archiving some school records mostly. He gets all A*s and is ridiculously good at art, he's in all the local art gallery exhibitions." John nodded.

He was really beginning to enjoy life at Reichenbach, his roommate was a bit of a dick (he was still feeling angry after the shower incident) but good company, Greg was a laugh and seemed normal, Mike Stamford was perfectly pleasant, Molly Hooper was pretty and he still had her t-shirt, Irene unsettled him but God, was she good looking and then Charlie who honestly seemed like such a laugh.

He made idle chitchat with Greg for about ten minutes until the PE teacher stormed back onto the pitch with a sheepish looking Charlie. John tried his hardest not to laugh. Charlie's viciously wavy hair had been cut down completely at the sides and the front had been brushed and trimmed into a neat side parting. His beanie vanished and you could actually see his forehead. Despite having his hair chopped off by a manic PE teacher he looked surprisingly good. John ran a hand through his own hair; maybe he should resort to desperate measures and have his hair cut by a teacher. John turned to whisper to Charlie, "reckon you could tidy up my hair mate?" Charlie bit his lip to stop him from laughing.

"Sure John, if you want, you busy tonight?" John grinned widely at him.

"Short back and sides?" they both laughed as the teacher barked out an order for them to run five laps. Greg sprinted off, putting his bulging muscles to good use. Two girls who were walking up the drive giggled and blushed. John and Charlie took the laps more slowly.

"I heard you're Sherlock's roommate," Charlie said as they ran side-by side.

"Yeah I am, he's really, and actually, I'm not sure what he is. I mean he's kind of nice but there's something about him. Something I can't put my finger on, but I like him…" John trailed off miserably and Charlie shot him a confused look. They ran on in silence for a little while until John decided to speak again, "how long have you and Greg been friends?" A small smile lit up Charlie's face,

"Day one, he's my roommate, we've been best mates since year 7, so going on five years now," John nodded and concentrated on running.

The rest of the laps went by quickly until the assembled boys were standing around the football pitch practicing their passing skills. John passed across to a tall boy with gelled black hair and sprinted down the pitch.

The rest of the double PE session continued like that until there was the faint ringing of the school bell and everyone raced towards the changing rooms. When John arrived the showers were already full so he grabbed his kit bag and headed out towards Winchester House. He had twenty minutes until the start of biology and broke into a run. He sprinted up the stairs to his floor and jammed his key into the lock of room 221B. He dumped his sweaty kit at the end of his bed and stripped off quickly. He turned the shower on full and tried to clean himself as quickly as possible. The hot water soothed his muscles as he gently shampooed his hair (with his own shampoo this time) and rinsed himself. As John dressed back into his uniform quickly he shot a look at the clock, "shit!" he exclaimed, grabbed his bag and left his tie undone around his neck and sprinted towards the biology block.

John was only two minutes late and the teacher hadn't even arrived, he slipped into a seat at the back of the room next to Sherlock who was texting under the table. John smirked and delved into his bag to find his biology textbook. The teacher finally arrived; she was a short woman in a white lab coat with glasses and mousy brown hair.

"Silence!" she shouted and the class' attention flickered to the front of the room. She surveyed the class quickly before continuing in a softer voice, "hi, I'm Ms. Laurens and I'm going to be your biology teacher this year, I'm pretty sure I've taught some of you lower down in the school so it's nice to have you back. Of course, you'll all be sitting your Biology GCSE in May next year and we're going to be working quickly and efficiently to ensure the best possible grades. Now that I've introduced myself I'd like all of you to write your name on a piece of paper and fold it into a sign so I can learn your names more easily," there was a mass movement of people reaching for pieces of paper and pens. Sherlock deftly wrote his name across a piece of A4 and folded it slightly, John looked at Sherlock's handwriting which looked vaguely calligraphic and then back at his own spiky handwriting and sighed inwardly. Ms. Laurens waited until the class had finished writing their names and continued, "Today we're going to be looking at osmosis, active transport and diffusion. So everyone find a partner and we'll prepare some experiments." John shot a glance at Sherlock who was busy scribbling formulas in a little black book.

"Sherlock?" No response.

"Sherlock?" John called a little more loudly until he resorted to punching Sherlock lightly on the shoulder.

"Yes John?" Sherlock's cold blue eyes snapped up to meet John's.

"We have to prepare the experiments," Sherlock glanced at the other students and sighed dramatically,

"I suppose we do, how dull…" Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood up before striding over to the workbench and picking up several test tubes. John shook his head, bemused and followed his roommate.

The rest of John's day passed without incident until he decided to return to his room to clean up before dinner. He was just cutting across the football pitch, close to the woods when he heard raised voices. He shifted towards a large oak slightly and held his breath.

"Freak!" There was a sigh and then another exclamation, "no one likes you here, why can't you just leave, or kill yourself?" at this, a surge of anger erupted in John and he emerged. A weedy looking boy with slicked back black hair and a small group of vicious of looking cronies was standing in front of a crumpled figure.

"Let them up," John ordered and surprised himself at the unwavering strength in his voice. The weedy looking boy sneered,

"Oh and who are you? Freak's boyfriend?" Something triggered in his memory banks, _'__I've had at least three roommates a year because people don't want to have to share a room with Sherlock Holmes, the freaky genius kid-' _Suddenly John recognised the coat of the figure and caught sight of black curly hair.

"No, but I am his friend, so don't you dare touch him again or I'll beat you so bad you'll wake up in traction." The weedy boy's Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped nervously.

"Doubt it," the boy delivered a sharp kick to Sherlock's ribs. In an instant John was on him, his calloused hands wrapped around the boy's neck and his body weight pinning him to the ground. John treated the boy to a right hook and a knee to the groin before climbing to his feet, the other boys were hanging back around the line of trees nervously, "get out of here." John warned before turning his attention back to the boy in front of him, "Now if I see you so much as speaking to Sherlock I will hurt you okay?" The boy coughed weakly and nodded.

John turned his attention back to his roommate. Sherlock's eyes were closed but his breathing was steady. There wasn't any visible damage to his face, but as stupid as the bully had looked, he obviously wasn't that stupid, you never damage the face. John fished in Sherlock's coat pocket for his phone and flipped though the contacts (there weren't many) until he came to Lestrade. He pressed the green button and brought the phone up to his ear.

"Greg, I need your help, I'm just inside the forest by the football pitch."


	8. Chapter 8

John vaguely wondered which sartorial sadist had invented stairs as he helped Greg Lestrade heft Sherlock's unconscious body up five flights. He hoped that whoever they were they had died an incredibly slow, uncomfortable and painful death. Greg shifted his hold on the skinny teenager and they turned a corner in the stairs and turned his head towards John, "so you're not going to tell me who did this to him?" Greg asked as they turned onto another flight that would finally take them to their floor.

"He slipped and fell," John growled, Greg nodded as they staggered onto their floor and collapsed outside John and Sherlock's door. John searched in his trouser pockets for his keys and upon finding them opened the door hurriedly. Greg took a firm grip on Sherlock's ankles and dragged him across the threshold. John grabbed Sherlock's elbows and roughly swung him onto his bed.

John hurried into the bathroom and dug out a small first aid kit from the medicine cupboard, Greg left as soon he saw that John had it under control. John gently unbuttoned Sherlock's white shirt and undid his tie. He'd never actually used any of his medic skills on anyone before, well apart from that one time with Harry, but he preferred not to think about that particular incident. He gently unraveled a length of bandage and tucked it under Sherlock's ribs before pulling out a yellowish ointment and some medical scissors and getting to work.

Sherlock woke up in his own bed with no memory of being there. He looked around through bleary eyes; an extremely blurry John Watson came into view. John was kneeling at the end of his bed and surveying him worriedly. Sherlock reached for his bedside cabinet and pulled himself into a sitting position. He blinked away the blurriness until John came into focus. A blinding pain shot through his abdomen, "ahhhhhh, fu-" Sherlock groaned and tried to sit up. John pushed against Sherlock's chest so that he was lying down on the bed again, "cracked- no bruised ribs, dislocated shoulder that has since been put back into place and several lacerations and bruises," Sherlock quickly deducted, John tried to forget the horrible vulnerability in his voice.

"You've been out for half an hour, I shouldn't have let you sleep but there were no visible head injuries," John babbled as Sherlock rolled his eyes and climbed off the bed slowly. John tried to avert his gaze as Sherlock walked across the room. He was dressed only in his suit trousers that were tailored sharply at his narrow hips. There were several layers of bandage wrapped neatly around his concave stomach and his chest was pale and covered in small bruises. John briefly considered the enigma that was his roommate before putting his blazer back on and adjusting his tie.

"Dinner starts soon," John said at Sherlock's back, he paused in the doorway of the bathroom.

Sherlock shook his head; "I'd rather be alone," John nodded and with a final worried look towards the bathroom where he could hear a tap running, left the room.

Dinner was a quiet affair; John didn't really feel like chatting to any of his new friends and instead took up a small table in a dimly lit corner of the canteen. He spooned mushroom soup into his mouth miserably and tried to spot the weedy boy that had hurt Sherlock. He didn't see any of the bullies for the whole of dinner and allowed his thoughts to fill his mind.

"Hey," John looked up with a jolt. One of the prettiest girls he'd ever seen was sitting right next to him. She had waist length blonde hair, a ring in the cartilage of her right ear, bright green eyes, freckles, a button nose and _curves._ He tried to stop himself from mumbling something incoherent,

"Jega- hi, I'm John," he extended his free hand and she shook it gently.

"Mary," John, in his defence, did try his hardest not to stare. She'd missed a button on her school shirt that revealed a miniscule flash of a petal pink bra and her legs were rubbing up against his as she talked animatedly about life at Reichenbach. He gulped down a long breath of air and tried his hardest (no pun intended) to listen.

John staggered back to his room drunk on the smell of her perfume and the warm feeling where she'd played with the cuff off his shirt. He dug into his pockets for his keys and opened up the door of 221B.

Sherlock was slumped across his bed with the cuff of his left sleeve rolled up and his right hand wrapped tightly around his forearm. John felt his heart beat a little more quickly, _what the hell was he doing? _John crept across the carpeted floor and kicked his shoes off at the end of his own bed.

"Sherlock?" John asked curiously as he leaned over Sherlock's still frame. Suddenly, Sherlock's mercurial eyes snapped open and he fixed John with a serious look.

"Nicotine patches," John's eyes widened slightly at Sherlock's apparent mind reading.

"But you have three on?" John asked worriedly. Harry had relied on the patches at a time and he knew that three was some serious amount of nicotine.

"You're trying to quit smoking?" John took a seat on the end of Sherlock's bed.

"No, it helps me think, why would I quit?" Sherlock rolled his eyes before shutting them again.

"Um lung cancer or you know, breathing?" Sherlock tilted his head condescendingly, how anyone could tilt their _head _condescendingly was beyond John.

"Ugh, breathing, breathing's boring," John rolled his own eyes and stretched his legs out with a yawn. At least Sherlock was feeling better, even if he was being a bit of a moody git, "how was dinner?" Sherlock asked and John looked up in surprise.

"She was good yeah," John bit his lip as he realised his slip up, thoughts of Mary's slightly unbuttoned shirt and green eyes swam in front of his vision and he crossed his legs hurriedly.

"She?" he felt his heart deflate.

"It," John corrected and resisted the urge to smack his roommate across the head as Sherlock smirked up at him, "listen, Charlie McKenna asked me if I wanted to hang out tonight and-"

"You're wondering if I will _permit_ you to go, honestly John, I'm not your guardian, you can do what you like," John nodded and stood up, Charlie would be expecting him soon. He pulled off his blazer and unbuttoned his shirt before choosing a navy hoodie and a pair of skinny jeans. As he did up the belt on his jeans and turned around he noticed Sherlock watching him from the corner of his eye and tried not to think about the implications of Sherlock watching him while he got undressed.


	9. Chapter 9

John settled in between two couch cushions as Charlie tossed him a sports bottle and flicked a remote on the TV so that the screen was suddenly filled with the Simpsons. John looked at the bottle in his hand and raised an eyebrow in confusion, Charlie laughed and threw himself down onto the couch next to John, "it's beer, Greg and I keep it in sports bottles, because the school basically turns a blind eye as long as you're discreet about it," John nodded gratefully and took a gulp. Charlie leaned over to the small mini-fridge by the couch and pulled out blue plastic bottle with name of a gym along the side.

John and Charlie talked for hours about everything; they discussed and estimated Mary Morstan's bra size, they listened to Belle and Sebastian, Radiohead and Blur, they played a Simpsons drinking game in which they drank everytime Homer said 'doh!' and just enjoyed each other's company. At one point, fuelled by about two pints of Fosters, Charlie offered to cut John's hair to which he agreed. Charlie pulled out a desk chair and wrapped a towel around John's neck. Within minutes Charlie had brutally trimmed the sides and piled the rest of John's sandy curls on top. He ran the scissors along the top of John's hair so that he now had a kind of wavy and untidy but granted short hair-do. John grinned as he mussed his hair with his fingers, "cheers mate!" they fist bumped and collapsed back onto the couch to watch America's Next Top Model and drink beer while the girls modeled swim-suits.

"John!" John was roused from his dreams half naked girls and looked towards the door. Sherlock was standing in the doorway, his plum t-shirt stretched across his bandages and his hair sticking up wildly. John gently moved Charlie's snoring frame off of his abdomen and joined his roommate in the doorway.

"Yeah?" he rubbed his bleary eyes with the back of his hands and squinted up at Sherlock.

Sherlock grinned with barely concealed glee, "they found a body," John's face fell.

"Try and look a little less pleased about it," he hissed and Sherlock scowled petulantly.

"Look, there's been a suspected suicide in Salisbury House, I told the inspectors that I might know something in the hope that they'll let me in," he looked towards John with what could only be described as 'puppy-dog' eyes, "I need an assistant to back me up, I need you," John rolled his eyes and grabbed his hoodie from where it was draped across the end of Greg's bed and pulled it on.

"Just this once okay? I'm here to become a doctor and continue on my rugby scholarship not to become your flipping sidekick." Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled his phone from his jean pocket and typed out a short text that John couldn't quite read upside down.

"Dull," Sherlock pushed past John and practically skipped down the corridor with calls of, "c'mon John; serial suicides, it's Christmas!" John sighed chased after him.

They arrived outside the room and were greeted with the odd sight of forensic scientists in blue suits and the anguished cries of devastated teens. The door of the room opposite was flung open with a tall mixed race girl leaning in the doorway. Her nose was turned up in a sneer as she took in Sherlock.

"Hello freak," the girl greeted.

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade, the senior,"

Her reply came back as quickly as a whip, "why?"

"I was invited," Sherlock sneered, matching her condescending tone.

Again, "why?"

"I think he wants me to have a look," Sherlock smirked, his words dripping in derision.

"Well you know what I think don't you?" she smiled humourlessly.

"Always Sally," Sherlock turned towards the door covered in forensic tape before pausing and spinning to face her again, "even though you didn't make it home last night,"

She stumbled over her words until John tried to push past her, "who's this?" she asked Sherlock, gesturing at John.

"My assistant," Sherlock smiled.

"You're fifteen, where on Earth do you get an assistant?" she paused and her eyes widened in realisation, "oh, did he follow you home?" Sally asked John who blushed and shook his head for the negative.

"Would it just be better if I waited here, or went back to the room?" John asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled up the tape.

"Don't be stupid, follow me," John slipped under the tape and waited for Sherlock to join him in the room. As Sherlock stooped to get under the tape he called behind him, "honestly Sally, you might want to invest in a trouser press, the state of your knees gives the impression that you've been scrubbing Anderson's floors again," with that Sherlock brushed past John who was trying not to smirk.

A tall man with silver hair who looked similar to an aged version of Greg stopped Sherlock as he attempted to push further into the room, "look Sherlock, I'm only letting you in here because your brother is my godson and the fact that you have a fantastic talent, but seriously three minutes is all you're allowed and be discreet," he hissed to which Sherlock nodded and continued into the room. The man, who John presumed was Greg's uncle, finally noticed John and raised his eyebrows at Sherlock.

"Sherlock, who's this?"

"My assistant," Sherlock replied as he stooped down to inspect the body that was just out of John's line of sight.

"Yeah okay, but who is he?" he asked again with a hint of impatience.

John stepped forward and extended his hand, "John Watson," the Detective shook his hand absentmindedly before shooting John a sidelong glance.

"Rupert Lestrade, are you the newbie on the rugby team?" John nodded glad that he wasn't immediately in the Detective's bad books.

"Yeah Greg mentioned you, I used to play rugby for the county you know?" John nodded and quickly faked an interested expression.

"Lestrade," Sherlock drawled from where he was, curiously, squatting on the floor, "you're cutting into my three minutes, I need the opinion of my assistant." Lestrade shot Sherlock an exasperated glance but still waved John through.

"Okay, she's twenty, has a string of lovers judging by the state of her neck-"

"Her neck?" Lestrade interjected.

"Yes," Sherlock sighed, "she has several love bites, the majority are very faded but if you look under a magnified image you can see that the slight teeth marks are different on almost every one,"

The DI pulled out a notebook and began to take notes, "this isn't somewhere that she wanted to be, she's still wearing her coat, which is dry but wet under the collar and she has an unused umbrella in her coat pocket, she's obviously travelled here seeing as it hasn't rained for three days and as she hasn't used her umbrella there were high winds. She has a train ticket from Bristol in her coat pocket but according to the weather reports," he held up his phone, " it hasn't rained in Bristol today either so she's probably changed train in Bristol. She has a napkin in her pocket, after a quick Internet search, the logo on it is from a café in Cardiff-" Sherlock was cut off mid-flow by a young looking member of the forensics unit.

"She's German, probably an exchange student," Sherlock span around to face the older man, his expression one of disgust.

"No you imbecile," in the corner DI Lestrade buried his head in his hands as the other man bristled.

"Well the note that she's scratched on the floor quite clearly says _Rache, _" he turned to John, "that's German for revenge," Sherlock took two short steps up to the man before pushing him lightly on the chest and slamming the door.

"Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted, so we can tell from the note-" John looked to the body, the word 'Rache' had been carved into the wooden floorboards.

"So wait she's not trying to say revenge in German?" Lestrade asked, confusion evident on his features.

"No, it's probably Rachel, Lestrade get someone onto Cardiff and find out who Rachel is. Now, the quality of her clothes are cheap but she's altered them herself so probably someone on a budget, she has a pen with the Cardiff university logo on it, so most probably a student, that should make her easier to find, we can also tell from the spread of splash marks on the back of her jeans made by her suitcase that she was only intending on staying here for one or two nights-"

"Fantastic," John murmured.

"Suitcase?" Lestrade interjected.

"Yes suitcase, where is it?"

"There wasn't a case Sherlock,"

"What?" Sherlock rushed out of the room and faced the small group of forensics, "okay has anyone seen a case?" they all shook their heads and Sherlock swore loudly.

"Maybe she booked into a hotel and left it there?" John tried, Sherlock considered him for a moment before shaking his head.

"No, look at her, really look at her," he urged, "she's wearing a lot of makeup, her nails, underwear and top are all coordinated, do you really think she'd leave a hotel room with her hair still in that state?" John shook his head.

"No, I don't think she would," Sherlock's lip quirked as he nodded at John.

"It's not suicide," Sherlock announced and Lestrade's eyes widened.

"How on Earth? -"

"Look, I'm not sure how, the poison was self administered but we're dealing with a serial killer-"

"Serial?" John asked and Sherlock span around to face him.

"Yes, there have been three of these apparent suicides in the surrounding area of the course of the last month," Sherlock turned back to Lestrade, "that's the thing about serial killers, we have to wait for them to make a mistake-"

"We can't just wait Sherlock!' DI Lestrade grumbled as Sherlock disappeared out of the door.

"They already have!" Sherlock exclaimed as he raced down the corridor. Both John and Lestrade moved towards the door.

"What?" Lestrade hollered at Sherlock's retreating figure.

Sherlock stopped as he reached the staircase, "PINK!"


	10. Chapter 10

John rubbed his slightly sweaty hands on the legs of his pyjamas. Sherlock was bent over his desk with his hair standing up manically and the edge of his t-shirt caught up around his bandages. The small desk lamp burned bright colours into John's retinas as he brought his legs up, collapsed on his bed and tried desperately to sleep. From the other side of the room Sherlock made small noises as he deduced something or turned a page in one of the thick encyclopaedias that was open in his lap.

John tugged his pillow over his head and burrowed under the duvet, he was close to sleep when Sherlock shook him into consciousness.

"JOHN!" Sherlock yelled, giddy with excitement, "I have a lead, will you come with me?" John sat up and pushed the duvet away. The sky outside was pitch black the only source of light was Sherlock's infuriatingly bright desk lamp. John rubbed his eyes and turned to squint at his brand new -thanks to Sherlock destroying his last- LED alarm clock. The time read 01:23.

_01:23. _

John spluttered in indignation and tossed a pillow at Sherlock before curling up beneath the covers for what felt like the millionth time that night, "no, bugger off and sleep like a _normal person_, can't it wait till tomorrow?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled the duvet straight off of John.

"No, it's important, besides, we have lessons tomorrow so I can't do it then," John mustered something between a growl, a sigh and a sob.

"Yes Sherlock, we have school tomorrow and do you know why? Because we're _students _not detectives or whatever the hell this set up is!"

John Watson found himself outside, wrapped up in a hoodie and parka fifteen minutes later while Sherlock led the way to the local town. The early morning air was the sort of cold that reached down to your bones and John shivered as they trekked along various country lanes. Sherlock continued to lead the way while he muttered excitedly and John yawned repeatedly into his cupped hands.

John barely noticed as they arrived in the town, which was dimly lit by the orange glow from the streetlamps. They continued to walk without talking; the only sound was their deep breaths in the freezing air.

"We're here," Sherlock announced. John looked up from his feet, they were outside a grubby looking café with a flickering 'open 24/7' sign in the window.

John yawned again, trying to stifle the sound with the cuff of his coat, "mm, s'all well and good, but _why _are we here?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed irritably, "to go river dancing, no, don't be incompetent, we're here to catch a serial killer!" John tried to ignore the sarcasm in his one.

John sighed and pushed past Sherlock and hurried into the warmth of the café.

Sherlock followed just behind him and they collapsed into a garish red-seated booth. Within seconds a man of about 20 with long brown hair and designer stubble had raced to their table, pad and pen in hand.

"Sherlock!" his voice had a slight Italian lilt and was loud, far too loud for the ears of John Watson at nearly 2am. John banged the back of his head against the booth in frustration, causing the Italian man to look towards him.

"Angelo," Sherlock greeted with a quiet voice and a fake smile. Angelo's eyes were still fixed on John.

"I see you brought your date?" John turned back to Sherlock, who was acting as though nothing had happened.

"No, no no no no no," he shot Sherlock a glare, "_no, _I am not his date, this-" he gestured to the two of them, "is not a date, we are not a couple, I'm not gay!"

Angelo had already left.

John kicked Sherlock's shin under the table, "can you at least bother defending the fact that we're not gay?"

Sherlock drummed his fingers on the checkered table and looked up at John, a very slight smirk across his lips, "I didn't realise that the act of being gay was a group activity,"

"You know what I meant and-" Angelo placed two cups of steaming hot tea on the table in front of them.

John nodded gratefully and took a long gulp of the tea, not caring about how it scalded his throat.

Sherlock looked out of the window, his eyes flickering slightly as he took everything in. John leaned forward across the table so that he could look at whatever had captured Sherlock's attention, "what're we staring at?"

"Nothing," Sherlock replied and pushed John back into his seat, "_I'm _keeping an eye out for a serial killer,"

John pouted and stirred a sugar into his tea, "why can't I stare? You're staring,"

"We can't both stare," Sherlock jumped up and grabbed the crook of John's elbow, dragging him backwards out of the café.

"I hadn't finished my tea," John spluttered as they fell out into the street.

"Shut up, follow that vehicle," Sherlock hissed, John looked towards to the navy minivan that was slowly pulling away, he memorised the license plate but Sherlock was already tugging on his hand and dragging John beside him.

"I memorised the license plate," John panted.

"Good for you," Sherlock mumbled, letting go of John's hand and racing ahead, his grey woolen coat flapping behind him.

For the next five minutes they sprinted across building sites, jumped across buildings, raced through alleyways, climbed ladders and chased the mini-van down roads. When they finally broke out of a narrow alley way and into a brightly lit road, the mini-van was just across the street, parked outside a TESCO extra. Sherlock pulled on the hood of John's coat, tugging him out of the way and towards the mini-van. The driver had obviously gone into the shop and it was full of broad-chested rugby players from year 13 of Reichenbach Academy.

"Ehhhhhh!" yelled a burly boy with face paint, Sherlock's eyes widened in shock as he retreated from the van, tripping over John's feet in the process.

"Not what we were looking for?" John panted, his hands resting on his thighs and his face tilted upwards to lock eyes with Sherlock.

"No," he gulped, "not at all, c'mon John, I need to rethink."


End file.
